


toffee with your vicodin

by orphan_account



Series: young adult friction [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Convenience store!AU, F/M, Gen, Grantaire works at the corner shop, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t go back down to the corner shop the next morning because he’s at all worried about the cashier, and it’s certainly not because he kept re-reading Combeferre’s text and feeling absolutely awful about it.</p><p>Definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	toffee with your vicodin

**Author's Note:**

> I attempted to write this part earlier, but my brain got sidetracked and ended up giving me 2000 words of les amis on a disastrous roadtrip, so watch out for that chapter in the near future.

He doesn’t go back down to the corner shop the next morning because he’s at all worried about the cashier, and it’s certainly not because he kept re-reading Combeferre’s text and feeling absolutely awful about it.

Definitely not.

It’s a waste of time anyway; the young man from last night isn’t there, and working the till is a woman with long messy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Enjolras ends up buying a bottle of sprite, because it would look weird to just walk through the door and walk straight back out again, but he’s never been a consumer of mass produced carbonated drinks, and he makes a face all the way home whilst drinking it.

Sitting on his sofa when he returns are Marius, Courfeyrac and Jehan, and it’s not anything surprising really, because they live in the apartment right across the street, but what is surprising is that all three of them, plus Combeferre and Joly, are crowded around Marius’ cellphone.

“What’s so interesting?” asks Enjolras.

They all look up at the same time and Marius cracks his skull loudly against Jehan’s chin.

“Marius has _une bien-aimée_. A small, pretty thing with blonde hair,” grins Courfeyrac, and avoids the incoming swipe of Marius’ hand.

“It’s not like that!” he protests.

“Yes it is,” interrupts Jehan, “you have fallen for her. Il est très romantique!”

They begin arguing loudly, and Combeferre raises an eyebrow at the bottle of sprite in Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras shrugs back, and that’s that.

 

* * *

 

A week passes, and Enjolras almost forgets about the mysterious young man down at the convenience store. He has papers to write and finals to study for, and so do the rest of them, although Courfeyrac attempts to host a surprise party in order to de-stress everyone. It’s not a success: he steps in the door and Joly screams bloody murder at him, and even Bahorel is threatens to castrate “the heir de Courfeyrac” if he doesn’t let up, as he has at least 20 more pages to write for his film script.

Courfeyrac sighs and goes back to his essay on theatre history.

 

* * *

 

Finally Enjolras snaps and heads down one afternoon, because he’s been staring at Latin words for nearly five hours straight and he needs a breather; anything.

He opens the door and sees him. The black curly hair.

Enjolras’ breath comes quicker, and he attempts to appear casual as he places two chocolate bars down on the counter.

“That’ll be $2.99.”

Enjolras puts down a five dollar bill.

The man looks up.

And freezes.

“It’s you.”

“Uh, yes,” replies Enjolras stupidly.

“Look, about the other night-” the man begins, just as Enjolras says, “I’m sorry about the other-”

They stop.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Enjolras starts, lamely, acutely aware of a pair of rather piercing blue eyes scrutinizing him. “Sorry for… being a prick, I guess.”

The man shrugs, “Not your fault. Sorry for the shitty customer service.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a cough from behind them, and Enjolras is aware that he’s holding up the queue.

“Look, why don’t we talk later, uh… here,” the man fishes out a pen and scrawls something onto Enjolras’ receipt, and presses it into his hand.

Enjolras looks down.

 _meet me at the café down fourteenth at 7pm. –R  
my number is…_ and then a string of almost intelligible numbers.

The handwriting is awful; chicken scratch really, and Enjolras’ brain is telling him that he has finals to study for, but a small part of himself is smiling.

 

* * *

 

It’s 6:30pm, and Enjolras is just packing a few things into his satchel when Joly appears at his bedroom door, looking rather distressed.

“Have you seen my flip flops?”

“What?”

“My flip flops. I need to have a shower but I can’t find my flip flops and Combeferre says he hasn’t seen them.”

“Why do you need _flip flops_ to have a shower?”

“I wear flip flops because I have a fear of athlete’s foot.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.”

They inevitably start searching, and Marius, Courfeyrac and Jehan are called from across the street and roped into it too, despite Marius’ pleas that he has a date with the girl he likes (called Cosette) that night, and Jehan’s protestations that he has a novel to finish reading.

“Come on Jehan, you could do with a break,” says Courfeyrac, as he slaps Jehan on the back. Courfeyrac is the only one who is looking at all pleased by this turn of events; his theatre history essay currently stands at five hundred words and to be honest, he’s not looking forward to getting back to it at all.

“I have texts to read and I’m looking for a goddamn pair of flip flops,” grumbles Combeferre, as he searches under the cushions in the living room.

They’re all complaining (bar Courfeyrac), but this is for Joly, and as much as they complain about it, there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

Suddenly from Joly’s bedroom comes an ear piercing shriek.

They all rush forward, before Joly stumbles out and cries, “I left them at Bossuet’s!”

There’s an audible groan, before Combeferre is slapping his forehead in frustration, because he’s the only one with a car among the six of them.

Courfeyrac takes his shoulder gently, “I’ll drive, don’t worry.”

“Over my dead body,” Combeferre replies.

“Oh, let me do it,” snaps Enjolras, grabbing the car keys from Combeferre’s hand.

Marius practically rushes out the door on his way to meet Cosette, and Jehan drags an unwilling Courfeyrac back home, despite the latter’s pleas that his essay is going swimmingly and he could spend an evening off.

“You’re an awful liar, Courf,” says Jehan, and that’s the end of that.

Combeferre retreats to his bedroom with a grateful smile at Enjolras.

 

* * *

 

Joly and Enjolras make it to and back from Bossuet’s in record time and Joly is extremely grateful. Enjolras breathes tiredly, and walks to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

He glances at the clock on the microwave.

8:15pm.

And suddenly, he remembers.

“Oh shit.”

He shoots off a rapid fire text to the number the cashier had given him.

A moment, and then,

 **Unknown number:** thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](http://combeferresque.tumblr.com). 
> 
> For the record, “I wear flip flops because I have a fear of athlete’s foot” was an actual thing said by an actual friend of mine. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.


End file.
